


these mutterings are without ending

by olivemartini



Series: A Study in Sherlock [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, John makes it better, M/M, Post Season 4, get togehter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 04:25:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15065111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olivemartini/pseuds/olivemartini
Summary: Sherlock is brilliant.John knew that from the very beginning and had told him so, over and over in those first few days, when they could walk down the street and Sherlock could tell everyone's life stories in the blink of an eye and John somehow knew that he wasn't making it up, when they stood over the first dead body John had seen since coming back to London and Sherlock made her come back to life for a few moments, giving her voice back to her, when he heard the mutterings of the people who did not bother to understand the unique beauty of who Sherlock is and what he can do and wanted to drown them out.He hasn't stopped.





	these mutterings are without ending

Sherlock is brilliant.

John knew that from the very beginning and had told him so, over and over in those first few days, when they could walk down the street and Sherlock could tell everyone's life stories in the blink of an eye and John somehow knew that he wasn't making it up, when they stood over the first dead body John had seen since coming back to London and Sherlock made her come back to life for a few moments, giving her voice back to her, when he heard the mutterings of the people who did not bother to understand the unique beauty of who Sherlock is and what he can do and wanted to drown them out.

He hasn't stopped.

"It's amazing."  They had come off a particular bad case.  Not because Sherlock couldn't figure it out, or because someone got hurt, or because they were in one of their ever increasing spats, but because of the people, the ones on the sidelines, the ones who do nothing with their lives but still think that they have the right to point figures, to look at Sherlock and sneer, whisper things that John is sure they would never dare to say to anyone's face.  Not that it matters. Sherlock could still hear them.  Could be able to figure out what they were saying from a mile away, just from body language and eye position, even if he hadn't.  As much as John wanted to, he could not hide the cruelty from him. "What you do."

"Is it?"  There were times where Sherlock was distant on purpose.  Blunt, pretending that he did not feel, did not understand, did not react to hurt and pain and betrayal like every other human being.  This was not one of those times, and John could tell just from the way he was standing, taking longer than he should to unwind the scarf from his neck just so he had a chance to wipe the hurt from his eyes.  "They didn't seem to think so."

"It is."  For the first time, John wished for a murder.  A bank robbery.  Another moriarty, something, just so Sherlock had something to take his mind off those people and their mutterings, a distraction to soothe the ache of their disapproval.  "It's extraordinary."

That was the best word for it, John thought, about how bright he burns, and the only problem that a light like that cannot come easy, it must wear thin sometimes, there is only so much that one person can give to the world before they break, and Sherlock is burning brighter than all of them, will use himself up in a flash of heat like a lightning strike before the world even knew what it had, and his name would live on forever, but that would not be enough, not for the ones that got to stand close enough to him to see his life for what it was.

"Stop."  Sherlock had his eyes closed, his hands still knotted in his scarf, face pained.  "Don't say things like that."

"I mean them."

"You don't.  You won't."  He was frozen.  John wanted to help him, but he didn't know how, because he had seen before how much love Sherlock's heart can hold, how he cares so deeply, like he wants to open his arms and hold the whole world within them, so no one that he cares about can be hurt.  John had seen what happens, when you threaten the people that Sherlock Holmes loves.  It is not a mistake that someone is able to make twice.  "You _can't._ "

"Why not?"  

John had never seen him like this.  He had known, from brief stories that Sherlock had let slip over the years, that making friends did not come easy.  That his school days were more tragedy than triumph, and that even though everyone had promised him that things would get better, the kids at uni were just as cruel, if not more so.  He had bee taught over time that very few people could be trusted, taught that it was better to throw walls up around himself, to be alone.  John had known him to throw sharp comments and cutting observations towards people who were cruel without needing to be, who never bothered to realize that he melted under the smallest bit of kindness.  But he had never seen him like this, defeated, like all the fight had been drained out of him.

Like he had finally burned up.

"Because those things they say." Sherlock swallowed hard, and John noticed with some alarm that his hands were shaking, enough that it reminded him of those terrible days of the drug detox.  "They're true.  Every single one of them.  I'm cruel."

"No-"

"I'm a freak."

"Sherlock-,"

"I'm not normal, I won't be normal, I don't know what its like to care for someone, to love them, to be able to get things _right,_ and even when I try, I mess up, John, and everyone-"  John had tried to cut him off but Sherlock was only talking louder, voice climbing, hands reaching up to yank at his hair, and John comes forward, pulls his arms down, pins them between their chests, forces him to be still, but he cannot stop him from talking, cannot stop those awful words from spilling from his mouth. "everyone leaves."

"I'm not leaving."

"I keep waiting for it."  It feels like they were finally dancing around what everyone keeps shoving into their faces, the unspoken idea that Sherlock is John's and John is his, how they know it, even if neither of them are willing to give voice to it, lest that be the thing that finally makes it disappear.  "I keep expecting you to leave."

"I told you before,"  John says, and in his head he is thinking how he is much too close, that he really does need to let go of Sherlock's hands, back away, at the very least put some distance between them, because the moment is charged and this is too tempting and if he lets it keep going it will snowball, and John has a responsibility to Sherlock, a duty to stop this before it starts, but he is already closing the distance between them, and it appears that its too late.  "I'm not going anywhere."

It feels like Sherlock had been waiting for this moment, this one sign that was allowed to break, and underneath John's hands he crumbles, seems to sag under his own weight.  "Do you promise?"  It's like Sherlock wants to devour him, like he thinks that this is the only chance he is going to get, all wandering hands that do not seem to be able to find a place to settle and sharp gasps of air, sounding like he is trying not to cry.  John really, really does not want him to cry while he is kissing him.  "You have to promise, John."

"I promise."  John gasps the words out, caught off balance, still holding him, thinking that he would be hard pressed to find a reason to ever let him go.  It did not seem possible that he once thought that this was gone from him, and that when he had the chance to have it back, he still turned away, chose a different path, chose _Mary_ and even though John could not bring himself to regret it, he still is hit with the idea that he could have been doing this entire life.  Could have been this happy for that long.  "I'm never going anywhere.  I told you from the start- you, this, our life- it's brilliant."

He tries to burn it into his brain, this moment, those words.  John had learned the hard way what its like when you let little moments like these slip through your fingers without properly documenting them, how they matter a lot more when you are left staring at nothing.  

"Yes."  Sherlock had seemed to calm down a bit.  "Yes, you do have a tendency to say that, you know."

 _Do you realize you're saying that out loud,_ some other Sherlock had said, long ago, and some other John had apologized embarrassed, because of course a man like that does not need a man like him trailing a long like a love sick puppy, but then he had caught sight of Sherlock's face and heard the muttered _no, its quite alright_ and realized there was more to this than he ever would have guessed.  That sometimes, people need someone to be there for them, if only to remind them of their own worth, to tell them that this, right here, right now, was enough in itself. 

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on Instagram @olive.writes.fanfic


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